


all this delusion in our heads

by snowcaplou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Worship, Bottom Louis, Breakups, Breeding, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Exes to Lovers, Harry Styles Calls Louis Tomlinson Pet Names, How Do I Tag, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Louis Tomlinson Cooks, M/M, Not professionally, Pet Names, Rimming, Sad Harry, Sad Louis Tomlinson, Size Difference, Size Kink, So much angst, Top Harry Styles, Unsafe Sex, Writer Harry, ghost writer! Harry, i guess, it's minor blink and you'll miss it, louis has a belly ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24741871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowcaplou/pseuds/snowcaplou
Summary: “You look terrible.” Louis finally says, shattering the tense silence that had quickly permeated the air of Harry’s entire home.Harry lets out a pathetic, hoarse laugh. From the mirror above Louis’ head, he could understand where his ex was coming from. He hadn’t showered in probably three days, he hadn’t shaven in twice as many days, and his hair stuck out in tufts from behind his ears.orAfter Harry and Louis break up, they cope with it in very different ways. What will happen when Harry keeps calling his ex over when things go wrong in his life, but Louis just can't take it anymore?
Relationships: Harry Styles & Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles & Original Female Character(s), Harry Styles & Original Male Character(s), Harry Styles/ Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 26
Kudos: 237





	all this delusion in our heads

**Author's Note:**

> I want to say a heartfelt and sincere thank you to Ris (@falsegoodnight here and on twitter) for looking over this work and encouraging me to write and finish a story I would have otherwise abandoned. Her work is simply amazing and so so appreciated. 
> 
> The title of this fic is from the song Let it Go by James Bay because I am unoriginal. 
> 
> I hope everybody enjoys this.

It’s three days after when Harry makes his first call. 

He doesn’t pay much mind to the time until the drowning ring of his unanswered call forces him to stare at the flashing 4:00 on his nightstand alarm clock. Granted, he has to physically lift his chin to properly look at the time as his bottle of scotch obscures the numbers from his position face down on the bed.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it definitely was not an automated voicemail message.  _ At least I’m not blocked.  _ Harry thinks.

If he tries hard enough, he can convince himself that the missed call is a byproduct of this ungodly hour. But deep down, he knows Louis. He knows that he’s kept his ringer on high next to his bed stand since he was younger. 

_ Just in case. You always receive the worst news at night, but it’s better than waking up to it. _ He would tell Harry when he ventured to ask the first time. 

Harry always had his phone on ‘do not disturb’ before Louis. He had a lot of things on ‘do not disturb’ before Louis though. His life was enigmatic of his ability to avoid his problems until the very end. Until he was at the edge of a break. Until the bad news just couldn’t wait for him to be ready anymore. 

But at this time, with his mind clouded with booze and the stale taste of burnt-out cigarettes unforgivingly stuck in his mouth, Harry realizes that maybe this time he’s already over the edge. Maybe this time he kept his life on ‘do not disturb’ for so long that it’s locked there. There’s no going back. 

He sits there for about twenty minutes with that realization pushing down on his shoulders. It suffocates him; pushes him deeper into the down feathers of his mattress comforter until he’s almost choking on it. 

He’s suffocating himself, he knows it, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

The lack of oxygen and the alcohol in his system almost overtakes him and forces him to sleep when he hears the first ring of his phone. 

His head shoots up when he realizes it’s not his imagination. His phone rings again, but this time he’s eagerly sliding his finger across the screen to answer it. 

“Louis?” he asks hopefully, sparing a glance at the caller ID. It’s Louis, of course. Who else would be calling at this time? Who else would indulge Harry like this? 

“You have to stop doing this,” A voice croaks from the other line. Louis’ voice is broken and laden with sleep. If Harry tries hard enough he can remember the times where that voice was joyous; when it would wake him up with little butterfly kisses and promises of hearty breakfasts on the weekends. 

Their domestic bliss. 

“Wha--” Harry begins, but Louis cuts him off. 

“You have to stop doing this,” he whispers again. His voice is harder this time, resolute in its desperation to get his message across.

Harry’s next response stops in his throat at the boy’s determination. He’s right. 

You would suppose that Harry would be embarrassed calling his first boyfriend every time something went wrong in his life. You would think that after four years he may have moved on. You would think, but you’d be sadly mistaken. 

“Please Lou--” Harry tries again. 

“Please Harry. Stop doing this to me.” His voice is weak and his voice is quiet. The sentence seems rehearsed like he’s thought about this for a while. Like he was waiting for Harry’s next fuck up to say it again. If it were anybody else, Louis would have been able to convince them that he was apathetic to Harry’s duress. That he had a clear mind and was trying to break ties with Harry, but Harry knew him better. 

He could tell that Louis was going to cry. There was a distinct quiver in his voice that only a few people on this earth could recognize. 

“Come over.” Harry had whispered without thinking. It was foolish,  _ childish _ to expect something that seemed all too taxing on the smaller boy. A part of Harry was sure Louis was going to say no, that he was going to tell Harry that this was it. Stop contacting him. Move on. 

The same thing that Harry had been trying for the last four years to do for himself. 

“Haz...” Louis started again, and Harry could feel his resolution shaking. He knew the boy was about to cave, that he was going to drive over despite having just told Harry to stop. Harry could feel a pang of deep guilt set in his gut-- it was like he was taking advantage of the way he knew Louis’ emotions. The way he could play on his weaknesses for just a moment of indulgence. 

“Lou,” Harry says again. But this time, there’s a shakiness in his own voice, a whisper that all too quickly reveals his near hysteria. It’s pleading, begging the small boy to just give him one more night. 

There’s a pregnant beat of silence before Louis breathes again. 

“I’ll be there in 20,” he finally whispers. It’s not satisfying for either party, but a tale of their codependence. 

Without a second thought, Harry chokes out a “Thank you,” before Louis has the chance to hang up the phone. 

～♕～ 

Harry’s waiting on the floor by the door for Louis to come when a weak knock rings through the air. Pulling himself from the tiles he feels his body burning at the prospect of Louis just a few meters away, waiting to see  _ him.  _

When he yanks the door open, he doesn’t expect to see Louis tightly bundled in such a familiar piece of clothing. 

Harry hasn’t seen the wool-lined jean jacket since they broke up. For a while, he assumed that Louis donated their jacket as it was one of the first things that Harry had given to Louis when they had started dating. It had grown too small on Harry, but Louis was always so attached to the jacket that it just made sense to give it to him. 

It just made sense that Louis would incorporate it into every outfit that he could. It just made sense that Louis’ favorite season was fall when he could justify wearing the jacket as often as possible. 

But then again, a lot of things just made sense back then. So with the smaller boy standing in the door of Harry’s home, he knew that for today he had to see the jacket for what it was. A jacket to keep Louis warm from the frosty bite of Harry’s early morning call. 

“Lou,” he breathes. Without time to second guess himself, he leans in. Whether his intention was to kiss him or to embrace him, Harry still isn’t sure, but he does know the burn of rejection that comes when Louis swooped away, out of Harry’s grasp. 

Without pushing it, Harry steps aside to let Louis inside. He takes off his shoes by the door and walks silently with familiarity to the dining room table. 

Harry isn’t sure what to say, and he’s not sure Louis knows either by the looks of it. He’s sitting with his legs crossed on the chair and his arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Without meaning to look like it, Louis’ holding himself together-- he’s biting his tongue like he has a things to say, but neither the energy or the time to do so. He’s looking at Harry expectantly, waiting for him to speak to explain himself, but no words escape either of their lips. 

He sits there with Harry leaning against the kitchen door frame, just looking at each other. Soaking up each other’s presence. 

“You look terrible.” Louis finally says, shattering the tense silence that had quickly permeated the air of Harry’s entire home. 

Harry lets out a pathetic, hoarse laugh. From the mirror above Louis’ head, he could understand where his ex was coming from. He hadn’t showered in probably three days, he hadn’t shaven in twice as many days, and his hair stuck out in tufts from behind his ears. 

Louis looks around the space, sparing a glance at the living room that was connected to his dining area. 

Harry was reflected in his house. There were dirty takeout containers on the floor, blankets were strewn about the couch, and empty bottles lined the table. It looked miserable, just about as miserable as he felt. 

He wasn’t sure when the last time his staff had been in to clean, he had been shooing them away for the past week. He couldn’t bear anybody in his space. Anybody… except for Louis. 

Louis swallows before standing up from his spot. One by one, he picks up the empty scotch bottles from his ex’s table. 

“Lou. You don’t--” Harry starts, but Louis puts his empty hand out to silence him. 

“I know,” he says. He’s quieter this time, “I know I don’t.”

He places the bottles by the recycling bin before returning to his spot at the table and pointing to the spot opposite him. 

His hand is small but demanding, so Harry sits without another word. Their silence is uncomfortable while they sit across from each other as if they’re waiting for something to give. 

Louis’ palms are splayed on the cold wood of the tabletop as they stare each other down. It’s not hostile. There’s no anger, but they stay there in silence, lost in the familiarity of each other’s irises.

Louis’ the first one to break the silence again. 

“What happened?” he asks. His voice is just above a whisper, so it softens his tone. It’s vague and open, but Harry knows exactly what he’s asking. He’s wondering what started this all. Why he was called here on a random Tuesday night to comfort his ex,  _ again.  _

Louis’ voice always had a motherly inquisition to it when it came to Harry’s transgressions. Like he was able to put aside his own emotional investment so that he could hear what Harry had to say sans judgment. 

“My boyfriend broke up with me,” Harry mumbles. It’s weird to talk about his ex with Louis as if he never sat in the very chair where Louis is sitting right now. As if Louis was never in their very same position. As if Louis wasn’t the very reason that Harry was dumped in the first place. 

“I know,” Louis answers. He’s unmoving even when Harry lifts his head to question how Louis was so nonchalant Harry’s confession. “We have mutual friends, Harry. And you always call me when you break up with somebody,” he reminds him. 

Harry puckers his lips out, sour at Louis’ irreverence. It was true, but to have the truth so exposed, so soon, when Harry felt so weak was not something he was ready to process. 

“I was asking  _ why _ ,” Louis clarifies. He makes no move to comfort Harry during his intense vulnerability, and it enforces the prickling need to touch the smaller boy and make sure he was really in front of him. To make sure this wasn’t just another one of Harry’s nightmares. 

He wasn’t sure if he would even want to wake up if it were. 

Harry clears his throat before speaking again, “I--” He falters. Why  _ did  _ they break up? Harry was not the one to end the relationship, so could he really be sure? With the mixture of sleep and alcohol still in his bloodstream, Harry almost couldn’t remember  _ why  _ he was dumped. 

He looked up at Louis after a couple of minutes when the answer finally found him, “I was  _ distant _ ,” he says, mocking the last word. 

Louis raises a brow at Harry’s disrespect over somebody he had assumed that the man was truly cut up about losing. Why else would Louis be there right now if Harry didn’t care about his ex to begin with? Running the risk of diving into too much too quickly, Louis cocked his head to the side and looked at Harry. “Why were you distant?” he asks. 

Harry looks around everywhere except for back at Louis because he already knew why he was distant. He knew why he was distant before Aubrey had broken up with him. 

_ He wasn’t you.  _

Harry’s silent answer was heard even before he finally forced himself to look into Louis’ eyes again. 

The smaller boy’s eyes were soft again, just as vulnerable as the man in front of him. 

“Oh, Harry,” he whispers, hanging his head low. Harry isn’t sure what Louis is feeling. Is it pity? Empathy? 

“Lou,” he starts again, voice thick. He has to ask again, he has to give them another chance. Louis looks up again, knowing where this was going before Harry can even begin his proposition.

“No Harry,” he says quietly. He looks at the man he was once sure he was going to marry who looked ready to plead with him to say, but Louis stands up again, effectively silencing him. “I shouldn’t have come,” he says quietly. 

“Lou...” Harry whispers brokenly. He’s up now, crossing the dining room to block Louis’ path. He’s wrapping his arms around the boy before he can protest. “Lou, please. Just don’t leave me. Not tonight. Just tonight,” he begs.

Louis is shivering in his arms and Harry can feel the dampness of his ex’s hot tears growing onto his shoulder. 

“You keep doing this to me,” Louis breaks. His voice is back to the empty rasp that Harry heard on the phone just an hour before. “You keep breaking me again and again. Do you realize how you make me feel? How you take advantage of me?” 

Harry doesn’t respond. He isn’t sure if he can. He just stands there with Louis in his arms and rocks them together. If it were four years ago, this would be normal to them. Harry always encompassed Louis. When he was sad, when he was laughing, he was always just… there. 

His body shrouded Louis, protected him from the outside. With bad news at work, family problems, and overall just exhaustion, Harry was there to cover him. To squeeze him until Louis could only focus on Harry’s warmth and comfort. 

But can the very person that causes you pain, protect you from it? 

Louis looks up at Harry when he finally pulls away. “We have to talk about this,” he relents. 

Harry only nods, “Tomorrow. Just not now,” he answers. 

Louis allows himself to be led to Harry’s bedroom with a large hand on his lower back. He knew what was coming was not something that he was going to cave on. Usually, nights like these, when Louis would come over, would end with them naked between the sheets. 

Louis would regret it the next day, they would fight, and the cycle would begin all over again. 

Harry would get another partner, they would date for a while, they would break up, he would call Louis, they would sleep together, they would fight, and then seemingly a week later Harry would find somebody else. 

It made him dizzy with predictability. It made him feel cheap… used. 

But that wasn’t going to happen today. Louis was going to be sure of it. Because if this was the last time he was going to see Harry, he was not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing Louis broken over their shared night. 

“There are some clothes in the bottom left drawer,” Harry says, shrugging out of his shirt and shorts. 

Harry notices that Louis’ stuck in the middle of his bedroom. He knows it’s not the cleanest. There are worn shirts and boxers balled up in a corner right next to the laundry bin, but that’s not what Louis is focusing on. 

“Since when do you smoke menthols?” he asks. Harry freezes in his spot, the shirt just over his head so that Louis can’t catch his embarrassment. 

He’s walking over the ashtray by the time that Harry finally answers, “Oh you know, just here and there,” he answers. 

He knows it’s a pathetic excuse-- Harry’s never been one for smoking in his life, let alone menthols. 

Louis is inspecting the cigarette that is still smoldering in the tray. 

“I smoke menthols,” Louis says quietly, moving the scotch bottle to Harry’s dresser so as to not spill it during the night. 

Harry’s still not making eye contact as he climbs into the bed with just his boxers, “I know,” he whispers. 

Louis scrunches his eyebrows together in thought, but Harry is grateful that he doesn’t press on about the cigarette. It’s not really his place to, anyway, he supposes. They both forfeited that right four years ago. 

Harry’s already made room on the side of the bed that he’s known is Louis’ for the past eight years by the time the smaller boy returns from the bathroom in Harry’s old joggers and a stretched out shirt. 

It’s possible that Harry loses his breath at the very sight. He looks smaller, more petite if that’s even possible. With tired eyes and messy hair, Louis looks just as vulnerable as Harry has this whole night. 

Harry fights the urge to reach out and grab him again, to pull him to his chest and share a pillow-like they used to when they couldn’t help but be so close to each other that every part of their bodies had to touch. 

Harry could easily get lost in those times. The times where he and Louis just seemed to fit together. When their love was easy. 

When Louis would just spring up one day at the edge of the bed with a picnic basket in his arms and a wide brim hat so they could picnic at their local park. When Harry would read to him under the shade of their favorite tree, talking about their future. 

Harry would spend hours, when he was clear-minded, thinking about their time together. That’s the thing about nostalgia though, it warps the negativity with overwhelming fondness. It makes you forget the fights and the anger and the resentment and it makes you long for the very thing that can never exist again. 

But Harry never thought of just the negativity. In his memories, he cherished Louis’ bad days. When he would come home from a long day exhausted and ready to fight. When he would hole himself away and just write or read. When he needed space away from Harry. 

He longed for the days where he would do the same-- where he would find just the smallest things to fight over because he wanted to justify his own shitty mood. Where he would go on hour-long trips to the grocery store when they had a fully stocked fridge in their kitchen just to get out of the house. 

He missed being angry at Louis, he missed loving Louis, he missed everything that came with Louis.

Harry knew he sabotaged his relationship with Aubrey. He sabotages every relationship just because that means when everything comes to an end, he can see the little boy with the blue eyes and the delicate hands that occupied his every waking thought. He could pretend that everything was right again, and that their problems never existed. That they never broke up and he could wake up with his arms wrapped around his tiny frame just one more morning. 

Neither Harry or Louis saw their breakup coming which, to outsiders, just seemed unexplainable. But to the two of them, it was just understandable. After four years, it wasn’t cheating or toxicity that led them astray, but themselves. 

Harry stopped trying. He didn’t bring Louis home flowers anymore. He didn’t tell Louis how beautiful he thought he was, he didn’t cook when he saw that Louis was too tired. He was too comfortable. 

Louis wasn’t innocent either. When he was upset, he would close himself off longer than necessary. When confronted with an issue he would be passive. Instead of confronting Harry he would do things to purposely upset him like when he would oversalt Harry’s food on purpose, use up all the toilet paper and leave the roll just out of reach so Harry would have to call for help. 

The day came when they were sitting on the couch, Harry watching a game while Louis sat on the armrest with his embroidery hoop on his lap. 

_ “Are you happy?” Louis asks. It was clear that he was waiting for Harry’s attention. He didn’t receive it until the game broke to commercial.  _

_ “What’d you mean?” Harry responds. His brow is furrowed like he’s listening to his boyfriend, but his eyes still haven’t fully left the television screen.  _

_ “I mean… are you really happy? With me? Not just comfortable or okay. Do you love me, or are you in love with me?”  _

Harry’s team lost their game and Harry lost his boyfriend that night. 

The hardest part about their breakup was how calm it actually was. Their lack of explosivity demanded that they both hurt-- they could no longer write their relationship off with anger. Harry couldn’t justify ignoring Louis because the smaller boy screamed or yelled or even said things he didn’t mean. 

Just like Louis couldn’t justify ignoring the deep sting of missing Harry because he had thrown things or spiraled off blaming him for everything. It was like their relationship just stopped existing. 

It was painful enough to tell their families who had grown so accustomed to each other’s presence during the holidays or random dinner parties-- soiree’s, as Louis would excitedly call them. Louis’ sisters were seemingly just as crushed as Harry was for losing each other. Daisy had refused to believe it and called Harry that night, when everybody else had fallen asleep, just to be sure. 

It broke his heart to have to tell them he just couldn’t see them anymore; he couldn’t risk hurting Louis or trying to start something they both firmly agreed was over. 

But after a few months when the stinging and burning of their forlorn relationship failed to dull, Harry began to doubt the finality of their breakup. How could something that had seemed so irrevocably over still hurt so bad? 

Harry knew that he could not be idealizing their relationship because it was not only him that was hurting. Their mutual friends confirmed that Louis rarely strayed from their routine. Work, home, sleep. Work, home, sleep. Louis never went out anymore, yet his eyes were constantly dark as if he had spent every late evening showered in champagne and body glitter. 

It had gotten so overwhelming that Harry was desperate to find something to quell the pain of seedy loneliness. So, he began doing the very thing that started this whole cycle. 

He started dating when even he knew he wasn’t ready. 

The first woman he dated after Louis lasted three months. Natalie was a kind woman who genuinely seemed to like Harry, but even she could tell that Harry’s heart was just somewhere else. 

  
So, when their honeymoon period ended and Harry couldn’t continue to pretend that Natalie’s dark blue eyes held a match to the kindness trotted in the baby blue iris of his first and truest love any longer, she left. 

And she left citing the same irreconcilable difference that every partner after her had: Distance. 

Harry was not surprised when she left-- he wasn’t dumb; he knew that he was just dragging her along trying to emulate even the faintest emotion in him that Louis was able to produce with just one smile. 

He realized it when he started to compare every little thing to his little love. She didn’t smile the way that Louis does-- wide, taking over his whole face till his eyes crinkled. She didn’t spend a little extra time on her hair in the morning, making sure that it was soft and delicate over her forehead like Louis does. She didn’t wake him up with the blissful excitement of what another day together could hold. 

She didn’t have the zest that Louis held. At this point, Harry isn’t sure that anybody has what Louis has. 

When Natalie broke up with Harry, he wasn’t sad. He was never sad when his partners broke up with him, in fact. But when all was said and done, when his distractions were gone and Harry had to sit alone in his house with just a bottle and the TV to drown out his thoughts, he couldn’t help but miss Louis. 

Everything came back to the small man that was sitting on the corner of his bed. Each breakup burnt a hole so deep into Harry’s heart, searing him to remind him of the void that nobody could ever fill. 

That night in particular when Harry called Louis only hours after Natalie left his house with a quiet wave and a sad kiss on his cheek, Louis answered on the first ring. 

_ “Hello?” It was cold, nothing like the sweet drip of honey that pestered Harry through his dreams, dripping its way into the one place he thought he could be alone.  _

_ He is clearly upset, and Harry can’t blame him. They haven’t spoken in three months when Harry admitted he was seeing another person.  _

_ They haven’t seen each other since their breakup nearly a year ago. Harry wonders what Louis looks like now. Has he changed his hair? Did he change his style? He hopes not. Harry hopes that the image of his ex that he has immortalized in the deep crevices of his brain are still present in this cold version of his Louis.  _

_ “Lou, please,” Harry had begged. His words were sloshing together- evident that he had been on the bottom end of his downward spiral.  _

_ “Harry,” Louis’ voice is softer now, kinder. “Is everything okay? Hey hey. I’m coming over hold on.”  _

Against his better judgment, Louis had come to Harry that night. And every night that Harry had called him when he was sick and angry, or lost and confused. A lot of those times came after long breaks when Harry would start seeing another person. 

Louis was never mad, but he never spoke to Harry while he was in a relationship. 

They had slept together that first night, but when Harry had woken up to a cold bed the next morning he knew he had just fucked it up all over again.

_ There was breakfast on the counter, of course, he had made Harry breakfast, but there was no other sign of Louis in the house beside the lingering air of regret and disappointment.  _

_ All that Harry could hold on to that morning was what felt like a distant memory of his little love’s skin touching his. The airy breaths and the silent tears of pleasure that he elicited from the boy just a few hours.  _

_ The way he had begged for more, for just a glimpse into their past pleasures.  _

Harry started seeing somebody else a week later, when he couldn’t defend going on more than a week-long drinking binge to ignore the grief of losing Louis that one night. 

In his trance, Harry misses Louis laying down face first in the pillow at the edge of the bed. He’s not close to Harry’s body which stirs something inside the man. 

He reaches out for Louis’ arm to grab him, but Louis stays unnaturally still. Unmoving at his touch, Harry lets out a grunt. 

“Lou?” he asks. Louis’ already shaking his head, lifting it just enough to peek over at Harry. 

“Please Harry,” he whispers quietly. “We can’t. I can’t do it to myself again.” 

It takes Harry a second to understand what Louis is talking about, but when he does he can’t help but feel the tense pressure of regret. 

Louis is asking that they not have sex. Of course he is. 

It had gotten better after the first time-- Louis wasn’t running away the morning after, but they never spoke about it and they never spoke again until Harry was calling him over after another fuck up. 

The thing was, they both knew how wrong it was-- how sleeping together and blurring the lines of their relationship and caving into their feral desire and codependency for one more physical night together-- hurting them. How it fueled Harry’s cycle. How it tore away at the walls Louis was building to protect himself again. 

But they could never say no. No matter how hard they tried, they were magnetic, there was always a force to pull them together that begged them to reconnect in the most primal of ways. 

Harry wasn’t disappointed at Louis’ explicit rejection which surprised him. Instead, he shakes his head and presses on the boy’s shoulder.    
  


“Lou, I wasn’t-- No, come ‘ere,” he whispers. 

He can see that Louis’ crying now by the way that his body is shivering from its tears. He’s trying to hold it in, to keep his back from Harry so he can’t see the way the thought of not touching the man that he so deeply cared for shattered him within. 

It was no secret that they both still cared for each other. Harry wouldn’t call and Louis wouldn’t be there every time if they didn’t still have some feelings for each other. 

Louis summed it up the best the third time that Harry had called him over after breaking up with Austin. 

Harry had begged him to get back together, he knew that he would never find somebody as good for him as Louis. He knew that his attempts at dating were fruitless, he was bound to break up with each and every partner that entered his life. 

_ “I can’t do that to you, to myself, to our families, Harry. Breaking up with you was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I don’t think I can pick myself up again if we didn’t make it.”  _

And there it was. The thing that would forever hold them apart. Louis was not much better than Harry, but he had a more localized support. Harry knew that his friends would stay with Louis when he was weak, they would take care of him and make sure he didn’t call Harry over when things got bad because Louis was right. He always was. 

Harry never was able to quite fix himself, though. His family was further away, he wasn’t one to call his friends when he was going through it. He was one to sit and suffer alone. To ‘be a man’ and try to get over things in solitude. 

But that never worked, did it? Because here Harry is with Louis just mere inches away. Because he can never fully put himself back together again without Louis as his glue, supporting his heart, keeping it beating. 

Louis finally caves after a minute and turns into Harry’s arms, sheltering himself as he works to stop shivering. 

“That’s not what I want. We don’t have to. We never  _ had  _ to,” he murmurs into the shell of Louis’ ear. 

“I just need to hold you, just for a little bit,” Harry continues, running his lithe fingers up the length of Louis’ spine. 

Harry was crushing the smaller man in a tight hug, but Louis didn’t seem to care. The pressure soothed him. 

“I just.. Let’s just talk tomorrow,” he whispers 

Harry looks like he wants to say more, to say something to express his gratitude to the small man in his arms by thanking him for always catching him when he falls, but by the time he’s able to even try and string together a worthy-enough excuse he notices the soft snores that travel from Louis’ lips. 

His face is buried into Harry’s chest and his face is hiding behind the fringe that is bunching up around his temple. With a delicate touch, Harry brushes the fine strands away and steals a kiss to his ex’s temple. 

He stays there for a minute, reveling in their proximity. Burning the image into his mind as he refuses to blink for he’s afraid if he shuts his eyes, when they open the boy will have left once more without a trace. 

～♕～

When Harry does wake up, it’s to open palms pushing on his chest. He would have been able to ignore the pressure had it not been for Louis’ whispers. 

“Harry, c’mon,” Louis calls. His voice was still blanketed in sleep, but it was brighter as if he had been awake trying to make his way out of Harry’s locked embrace for quite some time now. 

“Mmm,” Harry groans, pulling Louis even tighter to his chest. “No.” He says finally, nestling his nose deeper into Louis’ fringe. 

“Oi!” He squeals, “H, you’re crushing me love, please,” he gasps out. Harry sighs,  _ love.  _ He doesn’t miss how easily it slips from Louis’ lips. The way it sounds so natural. 

Harry loosens his grip just slightly as to not suffocate Louis, but to keep him trapped in his arms. His answer is firm in his actions, he’s not going to let Louis leave just yet. 

“Breakfast, I’m going to make you breakfast,” he reminds the man. He lifts his hands up to stroke Harry’s cheek. “H, c’mon. I’m just going to be in the kitchen.” So Louis knew why Harry was being so relentless. He knew he was afraid that Louis might scamper off again. 

Harry peeks open his eye to look down at the man in his arms, “M’ coming,” he decides, opening his arms to stretch. If Louis is adamant about leaving the bed, so is he. He couldn’t imagine staying between the sheets once Louis had left anyway. They would turn icy and unforgiving with his absence. 

When they get to the kitchen, Louis makes quick work of cleaning around the area and rummaging through Harry’s fridge. 

“You have nothing in here, Harry,” he scolds, “How have you been feeding yourself? Off of ramen?” 

Harry can admit he’s embarrassed even in front of somebody who knows him so well, “And takeout,” he adds. There’s really no excuse for Harry’s grocery stock to be so depleted besides his complete inability to function the past week. 

“I haven’t really been out,” he amends. 

Louis spares him a glance from around the door of the fridge before looking back, “It’s okay, I’ll make do. I always do.” Louis whispers the last part, but Harry catches it. 

Before another round of tense silence can fall between the two men, Louis is cracking eggs over a sizzling pan. 

“How’ve you been. Y’know besides everything. Like, how’s work?” Louis asks. He’s avoiding having to talk about last night, Harry knows it. He’s fidgety as he moves about the kitchen that he once claimed as his own. He’s finding old seasonings and spices as he’s rummaging about the cabinets when Harry decides to answer. 

“Um, fine,” Harry says dismissively. Louis shoots him a glance, unhappy with the clipped answer so Harry starts again, “I’ve been writing, sent out a few of my songs to a couple of artists,” he mumbles. 

Louis’ always supported Harry’s career-- He’s a ghostwriter for Columbia and has been for the last few years. 

He even remembers the first time that a well-known artist picked up his song. In fact, it was something that was burned deep into his psyche, one of those moments that will never leave him. 

_ “Lou!” Harry cries as he runs into the dining room table.  _

_ Startled from the outcry, Louis jumps and knocks his spoon from his bowl of hot chicken noodle soup, nearly burning his lap.  _

_ “Harry!” he responds with mock enthusiasm. He’s already cleaning up the spill when Harry recovers.  _

_ “Lou, it got picked up!” he breathes, wrapping his arms around the boy in his chair, “Medicine, they got somebody to pick it up!” Louis choked with the sudden movement of Harry quickly rocking him back and forth.  _

_ He looked up at his boyfriend, clutching his shirt with his dirty hands, not even caring if they left stains.  _

_ “Really? Oh, H. That’s amazing. You’re amazing! We have to celebrate! I’ll--” He falters. He shook his head, “I don’t know what I’ll do. I’m too excited. What do you want? Anything. We can go out, we can have people over…” he began to list.  _

_  
_ _ Harry pulls away, cupping his hands around Louis’ face. “Shh, Lou. Slow down.” He says, “Kitten, all I wanna do is celebrate with you,” he promises, kissing his nose.  _

_ It wasn’t enough for Louis, “No Harry, please. This is huge!” he cries.  _

_ “All I want is you, princess, I promise,” he repeats. “My muse, my inspiration, my ecstasy. All I want to do is celebrate with you.”  _

“And?” Louis asks expectantly, “Did anybody like anything?” 

Harry nods his head, “Yeah two of them are in the midst of being produced right now.” 

Louis spins around this time, “Really? That’s great H, I’m happy for you. I guess I’ll hear them on the radio then,” he jokes, pushing around the egg with his spatula, “What are they called so I can try to remember?” he asks. 

Harry looks up at him locking eyes as he huffs out, “Don’t Let Me Go and Just a Little Bit of Your Heart.” 

Louis’ smile falls. He’s not stupid and he knows by the look on Harry’s face what those songs are going to sound like. 

There’s pain in his eyes, and Harry is sure that it is only reflected in his own irises. He knew they could only pretend for so long-- they could only ignore last night, ignore their pain, ignore their past for so long before it came knocking at their door once more. Before it filled up the room until its presence was undeniable. 

Till it demanded attention. 

“Lou, listen. I’m sorry for calling you again, but I don’t regret it.” Harry says quickly, pushing himself forward to walk towards the stove. Louis puts his hand up to stop Harry from moving and he complies almost immediately. 

“Harry I think it’s best if you just let me speak.” His voice has returned to the solemn quiet ring that accompanied every one of their ‘talks’.

Louis turns to the plates in front of him, carefully plating each omelet as he spoke.

“Harry, you call me every time something like this happens. Every time I dutifully come here, ready to console you. To take care of you.” His voice is quivering and Harry wants more than anything to go back just a few moments ago when Louis was pretending that none of this had to happen. 

“Everytime I jump. I’m at your beck and call without question,” he whispers. Their breakfasts sit next to each other, fully plated, but Louis doesn’t make any move to turn around and hand it to Harry. Instead, he keeps speaking with his face shielded from his ex. 

“Harry, I don’t want this for myself anymore. I don’t want this for you. Are we even separated if I still come after you every time? I just… I can’t imagine you being sad. And I do my best to shield you from that with me. But I just can’t anymore,” Louis takes a minute to gasp for air. He’s crying now, sniffling away when all Harry can do is watch. 

“I don’t want to be sad anymore, I don’t want to miss you.” he says. 

“So then don’t miss me. Doll please, just … let’s just try again,” Harry interjects. He tries to take a step forward, to reach out for Louis, but he crowds himself against the countertop, just out of Harry’s reach.

“Harry,  _ stop _ . Don’t do that to me. You know I can’t do it. God, Harry don’t you get it? My family was crushed when we separated, I was crushed, I was numb. I… I’m still numb. You don’t even realize it. That’s not love. God, it’s been four years and I haven’t dated  _ anybody.  _ Don’t you think that’s sick? But Harry, fuck. I can’t find anybody I want to take care of me the way you do. Everybody else... their touch just revolts me…” He takes a deep breath.

“And you… You don’t even feel the same way. You date, you can find distractions or whatever you want to call them. But me? I’m ruined, Harry. And you don’t even care. The minute I think I can maybe get better, you call me back. And I’m not even mad at you for it. I’m… I don’t know what I am!” Louis’ getting louder this time, like there’s chagrin pouring itself into the small man’s blood. 

“Fuck, Harry! Do you remember when we would talk about getting married, having kids?” He asks with a shout, “That was so real to me! Everything was so real. I want a home, a marriage. Fuck, I want kids so bad, and I just  _ can’t  _ because every time I picture having kids they always have your stupid smile and your stupid eyes.” He’s shaking now, “How can I go to a partner and have that with them? How could I subject them to my own misery like that? That’s not love!” 

“Lou, I--” Harry tries again, but Louis spins around and Harry feels his heart fall to his toes. Louis is completely wrecked. His shoulders sag, and the same sad emptiness that Harry noticed in his eyes last night returned. He was crying fat ugly tears down his face and his breathing was deep and ragged like he was possessed by the passion to say his peace. 

“No,” he breathes. “No, Harry. You still just don’t get it. For some reason, it’s not clicking. Because it’s not just about getting back together. It’s about fixing four years of blistering pain that relentlessly clouds every little thing I do. It’s about undoing the damage that every little call makes, it’s about rebuilding the very trust that we both destroyed. It’s too much for my heart to handle. I just… it’s not just pretty words on a lyric sheet anymore. It’s real, it’s raw pain that I can’t help but dwell on because every single memory that I share I still cherish.” 

Harry bridges the gap without giving Louis a chance to protest. With tight arms wrapped around Louis like he’s holding the boy together, he places a kiss to the crown of his head. 

“Lou,” he murmurs, allowing the boy to shake in his arms. “Baby, I’m… I’m so sorry,” he whispers. 

Harry pulls away to hold Louis’ face in his hands. He delicately cups Louis’ cheeks, searching over his features before landing back to his eyes to say what he knows needs to be said. 

“My little love, I know you say you think I don’t care, but please know that it’s the farthest from being true. My lovely Lou, they are but distractions from the same pain I know you feel in the pit of your very being. Gosh, Lou. Everything, every relationship I’m in all I do is compare them to you. You’re…” Harry breathes, losing the words. “I don’t even have the words. You’re enigmatic, you’re so... Lou, nothing compares to anything you do.” 

Louis shook his head, “Harry, still--” but it was Harry’s turn to cut the man off. 

“No, wait. Let me for once. Kitten, I can’t change the fact that I don’t regret calling you over. Babylove, even just five minutes of borrowed time from you will hold me over enough to last just a little bit longer,” he whispers, “Please, just. Try to see where I’m coming from too… Just a minute. I--” he falters. He’s trying to find the right words but he stays there, preoccupied with the way Louis is looking at him. His eyes are deep blue, flecks of dimensional shades of sapphire capture his attention. 

“I’m sorry I’ve hurt you,” he says. He leans his forehead against Louis and brings a hand to cup the back of his neck. Stroking the nape of his neck, Harry continues, “Lou, I’m hurt too. When you leave, I feel like I can’t breathe. Every second I feel like the world is just going to swallow me whole and what will I have left behind? Nothing. Because you know what Lou? That’s all that I am. Nothing. Nothing without you beside me. Why do I even work? Why do I have this house? These things? Everything I’ve done, everything I will do, it’s always going to be for you. Even when you’re not here, everything I have, everything that I am is for you. Don’t you understand?” he asks. Harry takes a break to look down at Louis’ lips which are undoubtedly raw from the way the small man is biting deep onto them. 

“Nothing will excuse what I’ve done to you, my muse. Nothing. But by God, I’ll do everything I can for the rest of my life to prove that just giving us one more chance could change everything,” Harry whispers. 

Louis shakes his head, “You can’t ask that of me,” he responds. His voice is nearly silent, it’s been obliterated by his crying. His pain. 

“I ask too much of you,” Harry relents, “but just this one thing more. Just one more chance at us and everything could change,” he promises. 

Harry’s gripping Louis’ neck tighter now as he’s afraid that if he were to let go, Louis would pull away and try to escape. He needs an answer, but more importantly he feels like he needs Louis to say yes. 

His fear is realized when he feels Louis pulling back against his hands,  _ “Harry,”  _ he says firmly, “Let me go.” 

Harry reluctantly plucks his fingers away from Louis’ face to let the small boy pull away. There’s already a protest on his lips, he’s too quick to try and beg Louis to stay even if it's clear that this conversation is quickly falling into a completely different direction. 

“Nothing’s changed,” Louis whispers. His eyes skirt away from Harry and onto their presumably cold omelets. It’s a shame, reheated eggs never tasted the same-- they were stale and hard. 

But for Harry at least, everything’s changed. It felt terminal,  _ final.  _ Like the moment that Louis stepped out of his door, there was just no going back. The fear rose like bile in the back of Harry’s throat. What would happen if Louis were to walk out this door? Would he pretend like nothing happened? Would it be easy for him to step out, to pretend like they didn’t just bare their vulnerable truths to each other? 

It feels like a sick joke-- that this is a fever dream that Harry just couldn’t wake up from. It was his turn to tremble now, to feel the tears pool in the corners of his eyes. 

“But…  _ Lou,”  _ He breaks, trying to step closer. He needed to touch him again; he needed to hold him close just one more moment. To savor it, to taste the boy just one more time. He needed to live in the moment with him even if it was just for a millisecond more. Harry could make it last, he could hold on, live in that moment forever. 

“You can’t… you can’t just  _ say _ that. Things are different, they have to be,” Harry whispers. He’s desperately searching for any point of contact now that Louis looked away from him again. 

Louis’ hand is limp as Harry grabs it and holds it to his chest. He’s ready to get on his knees and beg. He’s ready to openly weep at Louis’ feet if it meant that the small boy would stay even just for today. 

Louis can feel Harry’s anxiety rise. He can feel it in the tension and the rapid beat of Harry’s heart against his hand. Louis can sense it so strongly that he’s sure if he tried hard enough, he could reach in and cradle the man's heart in his tiny hands. Maybe then he could calm it, promise that if things were different-- just a  _ little bit different--  _ then he could stay. He could nurse it back to health alongside his own that laid shattered and sandwiched between his ribs. 

But things weren’t different. Harry was going to go out; he was going to stay away from Louis for a few months, and then he would call him back. He would keep Louis in the same relentless cycle that he forces on himself. 

He’s shaking his head, ready to tell Harry that he just can’t do it anymore when he’s cut off by Harry’s wet tear falling on his wrist. 

It feels like it sears his skin and leaves a mark long after it slid its way along Louis’ forearm. 

“Louis, I’m sorry. I’ll do  _ anything _ . Just… just tell me and it’s yours. I’ll buy you anything, I’ll pamper you. Everything you were missing before, I’ll prove that it’ll be worth it. Just give us one more chance,” Harry begs. His voice is just as shattered as Louis’ now. The voice that used to fill their rooms with it’s honey-sweet passion, that would sing Louis into a fulfilling sleep , that won award-winning records was gone and replaced with a gritty baritone that skipped and broke on words that were just too strenuous. 

“Love,  _ please _ ,” Louis breathes, “I’m trying to be strong here. It just won’t work.” 

“Angel, you never have to be strong with me.  _ Please.  _ Just be weak with me, give into  _ this _ ,” Harry begs. He moves to bring Louis into his chest again, and this time the man relents. He allows Harry to tempt him with the prospect of fixing everything. 

But what was  _ this?  _ What was he giving into if he stayed even a second more with Harry? Was he consigning to more pain? More anger? More loss. 

“It’s not just about me,” Louis whispers. His lips are pressed right against Harry’s heart as he speaks, and for a minute Harry doesn’t catch what he’s saying, so Louis looks up again, “It’s not just about me Harry. All of this. All of us. It’s not something that I can just move on from. Harry, It’s my family, it’s my friends. Baby, it’s all the people that held me together when you kept tearing me down. How could I hurt them? How could I just ignore everything that they’ve done for me?”

Harry watches him for a minute, unsure of what to say. He knows Louis was right-- when Harry was down and hurt he called Louis. He relied on Louis. Who did Louis have? Who did he go to when he was alone? When he was scared? 

It was his sisters, his girlfriends, and probably most heartbreakingly-- his journal. He didn’t advantageously yank the sensitive chains of their relationship and stoke the fire of a breakup that should have fizzled by now. 

No, he suffered in silence. Harry could imagine him, sitting alone in his apartment with his little journal. There are tears on his cheeks in Harry’s vision as he writes to make sense of his feelings. 

“I don’t want to hurt anymore, Haz. And talking to you, opening myself up to the possibility of us… I just feel like it’s going to do that to me,” he admits. “What am I going to do if we break up again? How will I face anybody?” 

Louis’ working himself up again and his shoulders are starting to tremble, so Harry pulls him in tight again to stop him from speaking and losing control again. 

“Shh, kitten, I’ve got you,” he murmurs against Louis’ fringe, “Lou, love, I can’t promise that nothing is going to happen, but you’re  _ it _ for me. I don’t know the future, but I know I want you in it. Things get bad, doll. They always do, but we can fight through it. We’ve got to be united. I want to fight through till you can trust me again, till we can trust each other, till we can be together. I--” he chokes. He’s looking down at the way that Louis’ nose is scrunched up against his body. The boy is taking sharp breaths, undoubtedly trying to stop crying enough to process what Harry is saying. 

“I want everything with you, too. I want a marriage, a family. I want you to carry my baby. My child, a part of me in you. A product of me and you, our love together,” he promises, “We can have it all and more if you just say yes.” 

His words tasted like a sweet poison to Louis. It was everything he wanted and more; it was the future he had once believed he was destined to have and hold. His once perfect vision was being confirmed by the man he wanted it with the most, but he couldn’t rid himself of the angry yellow fear of failure, rejection, and desolation. 

Were this to fail, Louis knew he would be permanently ruined. Could he do that to the people he loved? Could he be so selfish to the very people who were constantly trying to mend the pieces that the very man he wanted back into his life had broken? 

He wasn’t so sure. 

When Louis didn’t respond, Harry knew that he had to keep going. He had to keep fighting for them. 

“Lou, for once think of yourself. Don’t use them as a shield to protect yourself from what I think you know you really want… let yourself be happy with me,” he begs. 

They stay there for a few moments, just living in their moment. Living in a time where they both could imagine giving into what they both truly wanted, even if it wasn’t something they were certain they could handle. 

At some point, Harry starts rocking Louis in his arms to lull the man into serenity. If he tries hard enough, Louis could imagine how it was for them just a few years ago. 

The way Harry would sing in his ear while they waltzed through the house. The times that were private and just theirs-- when Louis could pull Harry away from his work for a few minutes and swim in his delicate attention. 

That was what Louis could remember the strongest. Harry was always so soft with him. On days like those, Harry would sip on Louis’ sweet femininity while Louis glowed under his boyfriend’s care. They were the memories that on the particularly bad days, Louis would replay over and over. 

He would remember what it was like to be desired and touched with love, not just lust and seedy desperation. It was the type of feeling that Louis knew comes once in a man’s life, and it was something he was sure he had permanently lost. 

But to Louis, it all comes at a price. He was given the sweetest moments in a time where he couldn’t appreciate it all. When he had no base of comparison, when he didn’t realize the sublimity of their relationship. 

Now that Harry was gone, now that they had ruined it all, Louis fully grasps it. He can grasp the pain and gravity of his loss. 

But was he gone? Can he really be gone when he’s here, begging Louis for it all again? 

“What if we were to try again, and it just won’t be the same?” Louis asks. He regretfully breaks the bliss that had taken hold of Harry’s features in their beats of silence, but the taller man doesn’t look upset. 

“We’ll never know if we don’t try it,” he offers sagely. 

“But…” Louis begins, “Harry, we’ve built up such an image of each other during these years. We’ve idealized our relationship beyond comprehension. What if the same thing happens again? I don’t want to ruin what I have of you. I don’t know what I would do with myself if I let that happen.” 

Harry nods as he takes in Louis’ concern before he opens his eyes to read Louis’ panic-stricken face. “We shouldn’t have a relationship exactly like before,” he says quietly, “That’s why we’re here because it didn’t work out that way.” 

Louis opens his mouth to speak, but closes it just seconds later. Harry has a point and he’s fully aware that both of them can acknowledge that although they had their good times, they both contributed to the ultimate demise of their love. 

“We can be better… I just  _ know _ . I know we can do this again,” Harry pushes. 

“You can’t just know stuff like that, H, I have to protect myself. Don’t you see?” he asks. His palms are open on Harry’s chest before he clenches them shut, holding onto the material of Harry’s stretched shirt. 

It broke Harry’s heart to hear the words slip so easily through Louis’ lips. He’s obviously thought about it before. Louis’  _ actually _ thought about how he had to protect himself-- from Harry and from the world. He has to protect himself because Harry’s not there to do it for him anymore. 

He’s not there to shoulder Louis’ pain when it’s too much. He’s not there to shelter Louis from the weight of living in a world as unforgiving as theirs, and he has nobody to blame but himself. 

“My soul,” he whispers, reaching up to drag his fingertips along the sharp edge of the man’s cheekbones, “If I could take it all back, if I could take all your pain and make it all my own, I would do it in a second with no regret.  _ Please,  _ know that I would do it all for you two times over if that meant you never had to hurt again.” 

Louis looks up at him, “Do you think this is just your fault?” he asks, gripping the material in his hands all the tighter. 

Moving his thumb to hold Louis’ chin, Harry tips Louis’ head back further, elongating his neck so he could appreciate the sensitive skin that stretched over his Adam’s apple. He wants to kiss it, to praise how gentle he looked right there. He wants to physically show Louis how he could take care of him; how he could make him feel so safe in even the most treacherous storms. 

“It is,” Harry admits 

Louis’ shaking his head with vigor. He almost knocks away Harry’s hands when his face turns desperate as he says, “No, H, it’s not. It’s not just your fault and until we can be on the same page about that, I don’t think that we could think about reopening our past.” 

Harry’s face is crestfallen, but Louis continues on, “I just-- none of this is healthy. It’s not been healthy for a while. It’s not something that can be fixed in just one conversation. In just one day.” 

Unsure of where Louis was really headed with this line of conversation, Harry stays silent in favor of listening to what the boy has to say. “I need time. You need time,” he whispers, finally taking a step back from Harry’s touch. 

“What does this mean?” Harry finally asks. He’s watching Louis reach for the denim jacket on the hanger by his door when he’s able to speak. 

Louis shakes his head, “It means I don’t know Harry,” he admits. “I want to believe you but I have to know that I can handle being okay again. I have to know that I won’t place all my happiness, all my worth in our relationship. I have to know that I can be  _ in  _ love with you. I have to think with a clear head-- I need to know I am not just being wooed by your voice and your sickeningly sweet promises.” 

Harry knows what Louis is doing, he’s seen it more times than he would care to admit. He has the same face on when he walked out of Harry’s door the second time he was called over. Harry wants to reach out from him, but instead, he can feel the nauseating pressure of what he could believe was the ceiling crashing down onto him, cementing him to the floor. 

Louis pauses with his hand outstretched to the doorknob. He turns for a moment before rushing forward, grabbing Harry’s face while leaning on the tip of his toes to plant a heavy kiss to his lips. 

It doesn’t progress past that moment, but they stay there for much longer than necessary. Harry’s hands are wrapped around Louis’ waist to bring him all that much closer and when they pull away, there’s a fresh track of tears that stain Louis’ cheeks. 

“I’m sorry, I just--” he breaks, “I had to one last time. Just in case it doesn’t happen.” 

Harry looks at him, scrunching his eyebrows together, “Lou, darling, what do you mean? Are you…” Harry can’t bring himself to say it. The thought of Louis permanently walking out of his life racks his body with debilitating anxiety. 

Louis’ shaking his head, “Baby,” he sighs, “I need time. A-and I don’t know what I am going to discover at the end of it all, but I know that I need time to clear my mind. To fulfill all those needs before I can be with you. So I am going to take my time, and you’re going to take yours. And we’re going to reflect on it all so we can come back to this if it’s possible. If this is going to work, we have to be able to be independent from each other-- at least, I have to be,” he finishes. 

Harry’s face is unreadable as he tries to process what Louis means. It’s by far a reasonable request, but it begs the question-- how long would something like that take? It’s not that Harry minded waiting. He would wait for a lifetime and more, surrounded in complete misery if that meant that he would be able to lay claim over the very man in front of him once more, but what if that day never came? Would he have to come to terms with that alone? 

“How long?” he finally manages. It’s not as eloquent of a question as he would have preferred, but it gets his message straight to the point. 

Louis thinks about it for a minute like he’s trying to calculate how long it would take to work through the years of mistrust and loss. After just a moment more he shakes his head, “Just… give me a week so I can at least open myself up to the possibility,” he relents. 

Harry’s nodding along, “You’ll come here next week?” he asks. 

“If I am ready, I’ll come by 5 o’clock,” he decides. 

“And if you’re not?” Harry asks. Hesitation colors his brows; he’s not ready to face the possibility that Louis could realize in this time that he never wants to be together again. 

“I’ll find a way to let you know, but I don’t think I’ll be able to see you,” Louis says. He looks like he’s already regretting the idea, like it hurts him to think that this could be the last time that they’re seeing each other. 

Harry wants to bring him back in again, to lock the door and sit until they can work it out together, but Harry knows Louis. And Louis knows Harry. They need to be separated for a while to try and make this work. 

Against what his heart was screaming him to say, Harry just nods his head. With an outstretched palm, he cups Louis’ taught cheek for what could be one last time and tries to pour in every emotion that he feels for his ex. He tries will Louis to feel the emotion that he feels bubbling at his surface. 

Before Louis leaves through the open door, he turns to Harry with a sad smile, “Think about what we talked about, darling,” he reminds, “It’s the only way I can feel better about trying again.” 

And without another word, Louis passes through the threshold of Harry’s home with his keys in his hand and his jacket pulled tight around his tiny frame. 

～♕～

The first few days, Harry thought he was going to die. He wasn’t embellishing the truth when he says he quite literally felt like there is no more air left on this earth for him to breathe. He was lost in the perpetual loop of checking his phone, forcing himself to leave the house so his staff could clean, and take care of the mess he made, and walking around aimlessly seriously trying to concentrate on the questions Louis had posed for him. 

It was driving him over the edge. He was obsessing over every little moment, trying to reprogram himself to accept the idea that Louis could quite possibly choose to never see him again. The thought makes him want to throw up. 

The fourth day, Harry realized that there was only one thing that simultaneously distracted him while still allowing him to process what he was feeling and it was writing. Somethings would come to him naturally, lyrics and harmonies would latch themselves onto Harry’s mind until he relented and wrote them down. 

Other times, Harry was blank and his verses were dry. In his moments of disparity, he would think about Louis. The way he made him feel, where they went wrong, what he would do differently. In those moments, Harry could get lost in the hallucinogenic memories of their past. He was hooked on the lure of their nostalgia, only to be pulled back to reality when he was finished. 

It was like coming down from a high and crashing into the sobering reality that you were past your prime, that you were missing something. That the real high that you were chasing could only be cheap and synthetically made through the help of an illegal dose of the most dangerous drugs. 

On the fifth and sixth day, the deceptive mist of bittersweet memories began to fade to offer Harry moments of clarity. Moments when he could see himself fighting to be okay, fighting to be strong enough to hold onto his Louis. Fighting to be strong enough for himself. So that he could be a better person, less selfish. 

He began to long for Louis, but with new vigor. He was preoccupied with how he was handling the separation. Was he okay? Was somebody with him, checking that he wasn’t overwhelmed with… well with anything. The thought that Louis was suffering in any capacity was distressing Harry. 

Today, on the seventh day, Harry feels like the hours pass by in elongated stretches. Every clock in his possession taunts him while he waits for 5 to arrive. In the morning, he tries to ignore the way the time on his phone seems to stand still by going out for a run. 

He comes back just to sit in his living room in silence. He makes no move to turn on the television, to work on more lyrics. He sits and just watches the clock. For once, the silence doesn’t really bother him anymore. 

～♕～

Harry doesn’t know what he’s waiting for. He’s not sure if Louis would call to let him know he was there, if he would knock, if he would ring the bell. Hell, he doesn’t even know if Louis would forgo all formality and opt to just open the door-- he knows where Harry keeps the key.

So, Harry finds himself sat on the floor, much like he was just seven days ago, with his phone plugged in and his ear pressed to the door waiting for any sign that his little love had returned home. 

He almost believes it’s his mind playing a cruel joke on him when he hears it. It’s a hesitant knock with time spaced in between each sound. Harry can already imagine Louis standing there, wondering if he needs to be louder. If he should just give up and ring the doorbell. 

Harry doesn’t leave Louis there for long before he’s jumping up to rip open the door, ready to rip the wood off hinges if it stood in the way of him seeing the very person he so hungrily craved. 

What Harry doesn’t expect, though, was to freeze at the sight of the very person he was so eagerly waiting for. He doesn’t look much different than he did a week ago, but Harry feels like he shouldn’t crowd his space, shouldn’t rush him. 

But  _ God _ , the sight of him was so satisfying. So filling. It was like an injection of adrenaline straight into his bloodstream screaming until all of his senses stood at high alert. He was attentive alright, and he was savoring the sight of the man who held the future in his little hands. 

Looking at him, Harry couldn’t help but kick himself over letting him walk out the door even the very first time. He was foolish to let something so beautiful, kind,  _ ethereal  _ just up and leave his life like he never belonged there in the first place. 

No. Harry knew, especially now, that Louis belonged in every part of him. Near him always. Distance be damned because he could not fathom spending another second away from the man in front of him. 

“ _ Harry,”  _ Louis breathes. With a step forward, it’s Louis to close the distance between the two. It’s Louis to take Harry into a strangling embrace. 

“Oh pumpkin,” he whispers into Louis’ temple, “My little love, how I’ve missed you so.” 

Louis nods, “Harry, oh I know we have to talk, but… Let me just have this moment,” he says, nudging his nose into the familiar expanse of Harry’s chest. 

“You can have all the moments, kitten. I’ll give you all my moments for as long as you’ll have them.” Harry assures. 

When Louis pulls away, Harry expects him to suggest they sit down and talk-- maybe even open a bottle of wine to lubricate any words that may be too hard to say. But Harry was happily mistaken. 

Instead, Louis plunges forward and captures Harry’s lips on his own. His kiss is masquerading as confident and planned out, but Harry can feel its questionability. Harry can feel Louis praying that he responds back, consenting to intimacy while trying to pretend that there is no battle going on inside his mind. 

Harry doesn’t leave him hanging for long as he pushes back with just as much vigor. By the time the smaller man is pulling back, his once crystal irises are shrunken by blown-out pupils and glossy lips. 

Louis’ cheeks have a dusting of the most delectable rosy pink and Harry is sure if he died right then and there, he wouldn’t care. 

Louis looked insatiable but pliant, ready to cave into whatever internal desire called his sweet little name. 

Harry’s looking at him now with his bottom lip jutted out to survey their situation. Was this what Louis really wanted? 

By the small hand that was wrapping around Harry’s wrist and tugging him through the dining room, Harry was sure this was what they both wanted now. 

When Louis enters the room he seems to lose his steam. In front of Harry’s bed, for the first time, he feels small. Uncertain. 

“Is this--?” he begins to ask, but his fears are silenced by the gentle pressure of Harry’s lips on his own. Without effort, Harry’s picking Louis up and laying him against his silk sheets. 

“Shh, this is perfect,” Harry assures. He’s slipping his hand up Louis’ shirt to feel the expanse of his sensitive skin, “ _ You’re  _ perfect.” 

With attentive care, Harry begins to rid Louis of his clothes till he’s bare on his sheets. “My muse, look at how beautiful you look, laying on my sheets. I want to  _ devour  _ you,” he groans. He doesn’t bother to remove his own clothes but chooses to instead admire the blood-red silk against Louis’ supple skin. 

Louis spreads his thighs as Harry comes closer to his hip like he’s expecting Harry to go right between his legs, but the man shakes his head, “No my love, let me savor you,” he tuts. 

He’s working his way to up to Louis’ belly kissing all the way up to the pink diamond that’s stuck to the ring through his skin, “Mmm, I love this angel, but you’re going to have to take this out when I fill you up with my baby,” he growls into the skin, “Gonna make you so full, so round with all of me,” he promises. 

Harry can feel Louis' toes curl under him, and for a moment he fears that maybe he’s gone too far, but when he looks up to see Louis’ eyes screwed uptight and his mouth open in the prettiest little ‘o’ shape, he knows it’s much much more than that. 

“You like that, don’t you darling?” Harry grins, “You love the idea of being full of me all the time? Because you’re so mine. Gonna be mine. Gonna take my last name. Make your name even prettier than it is...  _ Louis Styles _ .” 

The tiny gasps that are leaving Louis’ red bitten lips only fuel Harry. He’s drunk on the thought of having Louis like that, holding such an intimate part of him. 

“Little angel, look how soft and pliant you are. I want you to watch me, watch how I worship you,” he says. He’s making his way up to Louis’ neck to suckle on the skin to mar it with unrecoverable bruises. 

_ “Harry,” _ Louis manages to choke out. He raises his hands to massage Harry’s scalp, keeping his face still while he suckles on the skin of his collarbone.  _ “Please.”  _ He’s unraveling right before Harry’s eyes and he’s drinking every second of it up. 

Harry works his way back down and stops at Louis’ nipple, “Look at this body,” he whispers, “Kitten, you’re incredible.” 

Louis wraps his legs around Harry’s waist trying to force their torsos together to create friction, but Harry pulls away, “Shh, I’m going to give you what you want. Tell me what you want, doll,” he croons. 

Louis looks down at him with soft pleading eyes, “Your tongue, my love, please,” he decides. 

“Anything for you.” 

Harry reaches over and grabs a throw cushion from the side of his bed and slides it at the base of Louis’ back, “A pillow for my pillow princess,” Harry jokes. He doesn’t miss the way that Louis’ foot moves to kick him in the thigh, but he’s too preoccupied to care. 

“M’gonna open you up like this. Get you all nice and ready for me,” he promises. With a quick kiss to the fleshy skin of Louis’ pale inner thigh, he dives in to feast on the pink pucker of Louis’ hole. 

If the breathless moans were anything to go by, Harry was sure that he was doing a good job of riling Louis up. The way he shivers after each flick of Harry’s pointed tongue just proved that Louis’ body was the most delicate of Harry’s instruments. He grips Louis’ thighs, gentle but still firm as he sucks at his rim, trading little kitten licks and longer drags of his tongue over the sensitive flesh. 

Louis whimpers, legs spasming when Harry returns to licking into his hole like a man starved. “Taste so good, kitten,” he murmurs, sealing the words with a kiss to his hole. Louis gasps at the feeling. 

He ventured inward, using the pad of his pointer finger to open the tight right of muscle. When he pulls back, his nose nuzzles the hot skin of Louis’ small sac and the boy visibly jerks. Harry looks up to see red flush all the way down to Louis’ chest like he’s embarrassed of the way Harry is taking control of his body. 

It motivates Harry to delve further, to insert another finger and milk his body’s first orgasm. He’s leaning back and watching the boy fidgeting under his touch.

“Look at you, doll, you’re about to come and I haven’t even fucked you yet. I haven’t even fingered you properly. You’re  _ gagging _ for it, baby,” Harry preens. Louis is too beyond comprehensible words so he nods along, all too happy to stroke Harry’s ego, “You love letting me do this to you, I’m the  _ only _ one who can do this to you. The only one who can touch you like you deserve, make you feel so weak.” 

When Harry feels like he’s opened Louis enough, he starts aiming for the boy’s pleasure. He pauses for a moment and shuts up long enough to marvel at the way his fingers disappear inside of Louis’ body. Out, in, out, in… Harry’s lost in the daze as Louis’ moans coincide with the thrust of his wrists. 

Louis’ legs are shaking when Harry is brought back to reality. The boy isn’t going to last much longer, and Harry is edging with the need to see Louis’ eyes when he comes. 

“Look at me, darling,” he orders. Louis’ eyes flutter open at the same time his lips part and Harry can literally feel the flutter in the pit of his stomach at how much he loves the man in front of him, “Come baby, I want you to look at me when you come” he requests. 

Louis’ ‘O’ face is one that Harry could write forever about-- shelves of award-winning albums that were all written about the way that Louis’ eyes were filled with pure satisfaction and compliance. The way that his compact frame shook with every sputter of cum. The way that his brows furrowed tight like he was ready to lose himself forever in the airy feeling of postcoital afflictions. 

Before Harry could lose his focus, he rests his hand on the boy’s cheek, “My muse, you’re doing amazing,” he praises, “Stay with me, okay? Can you go again?” Harry asks. He’s ready to call it quits if Louis really can’t handle another orgasm, but something tells Harry that he can. 

“Y-yes,” Louis croaks, “I wanna be good for you.” 

Harry’s grinning now as he presses his lips to Louis, “You’re always good for me,” he whispers into the boy’s ear. 

Harry moves back to his position in between Louis' legs. Now equipped with the lube from beside his bed, Louis’ waiting for Harry to undress with his legs butterflied out to the side. He makes quick work of shedding his clothes and slicking up his cock so that no part of Louis could hurt he enters. 

With a wicked grin, Harry takes Louis’ ankles in his hands and pushes his knees together and to his chest. With the boy folded in half, Harry guides the base of his length between Louis’ slicked up hole. 

“Look at you, so ready to take my cock,” he murmurs. “Are you ready for me? Do you want it, Lou?” He asks. 

He’s nodding along to Harry’s words as he tries his best to keep up, “I’m ready. Love, please. I want it so bad. I  _ need _ it so bad.”

Harry isn’t keen on keeping Louis waiting, so he pushes in with renewed zeal, “I’ve got you, I’m going to take care of you,” he promises. 

While he’s working up his rhythm, Harry moves to press Louis’ knees up to his chest. It grants him the satisfying elicitation of Louis’ huffy cries. He wants so desperately for this to be good for the smaller man. Even if it’s just for now, the pleasure that replaced the tired sadness from his love’s eyes placates his vicious desire to care for and rectify his past mistakes. 

Harry leans down as he pistons his hips into the boy to press a tender kiss to his forehead, “This is good, yeah? You feel so good like this?” he asks. It takes a moment for Louis to register the momentary insecurity in his voice. In a moment where Louis is completely open for this man, Harry is the one who is unsure--  _ he’s  _ the one asking if Louis is enjoying it. 

So Louis looks up at him with the widest doe eyes he can manage and nods his head to indulge his partner’s brief insecurity, “So good,” he parrots, “taking such good care of me, gonna make me come twice,” he continues, “M’ so lucky, so  _ full _ .” 

Harry seems satisfied with his response as he reclaims his confident aura, “Yeah, good care,” He chokes out. His hips are faltering now, signaling that he’s beginning to edge to orgasm, but he refuses to finish before Louis. 

Harry’s looking down at Louis’ belly, now covered in his cum from the first round, “So dirty,” Harry says, reaching his thumb into his mouth, “Look at what a mess you’ve made on your pretty little tummy.” 

Harry’s faux disapproval makes Louis’ eyes flutter open once more. He’s primarily confused as to why Harry’s thumb is now scooping up the reminisce of his first orgasm, but attentive enough to indulge and trust in where he was taking this. 

Harry reaches up and pushes his thumb into the parting of Louis’ lips, “You’re going to clean yourself up,” he grunts, “Like a good boy,” 

Harry’s pushing the pad of his thumb onto the flat of Louis’ tongue while he watches the man start sucking away the mess on his finger. He’s mesmerized for a moment, lost in the way that the skin of Louis’ pale pink lips stretches over his finger. 

Harry’s moving his hips incredibly fast when he pulls out his thumb so he can use both hands to push Louis’ hips deeper into the mattress. To angle himself for Louis, he lifts his foot up beside Louis’ hip, sliding out to the very tip of his length before slamming back forward, “You’re  _ gold _ , precious, could listen to you all day,” he growls out.

Louis’ a mess under him and is continuing to shake under Harry’s death grip,  _ “Harry,  _ I- I...” He’s choking out words and stuttering as he tries to string together a coherent thought to convey just how close he was. 

“Let go,” Harry encourages, “I’ve got you.” 

Harry has to remind himself to keep going even while Louis finds his allusive release. There’s something just so enticing to him about Louis’ pure elation. It was in the way he would throw his head back, unashamedly let the features of his face twist under the kiss of desperate pleasure. He was blessed with the insatiable hunger to just let go and enjoy what was being so enthusiastically given to him. 

There is something almost intoxicating to Harry about how the very man that is so calculative in his futile methods to plan the future and protect himself with thickly constructed emotional blockades could just as easily lose all sense when it came to the carnal need to get off with somebody he cared for. 

Harry knows that Louis felt so safe with him that he was able to show Harry parts of him that undoubtedly were locked up away from anybody else. Harry is drunk on the idea that this is only for  _ him.  _

With a low muddled,  _ “Mine,”  _ Harry pulls out just in time to add his cum to the pool gathering in Louis’ belly button. 

“Harry,” Louis’ voice calls to the man who has collapsed by his side. The exhaustion of bone-crushing sex has already overtaken Harry’s fatigued mind, so he just shakes his head, “Just a mo’ and I’ll clean you up. Just a mo’,” he promises. 

Louis’ giggling, real fits of giggles that fill the air in Harry’s room with virginal delight. Harry stirs at this and lifts his head to see Louis shaking his head, eyes full of unshed tears while he’s laughing like a madman. Astutely alarmed, Harry sits up, “Lou?” he asks quickly, “What’s the matter?” 

Louis’ shaking his head, “ _ Nothing,”  _ he swears, “I’m just so…  _ happy. _ ” 

Harry’s obviously not following on and he catches it. Louis bubbles down before taking a deep breath, “I needed to know that it was still there. That there was still  _ love  _ in the present, not just in our memories, in our past,” he clarifies, “I couldn’t live in the past forever, and every time we’ve had sex since we’ve been apart it’s just… I can’t describe it. It’s good, but I couldn’t convince myself that I was feeling the same love that I had felt when we were together,” 

Harry can’t say that he doesn’t understand what he’s saying-- what Louis was afraid of. Their sex was always pleasant, but in the past when Harry called him over their sex was for a purpose, to prove that they still were wholly dependent on one another. 

Harry wonders if that was the reason he had woken up to an empty bed that first morning even though he was sure Louis was satisfied. Because it was never about the physical pleasure for him, it was about the emotional intimacy that could only accompany meaningful and deep-seated loving passion. The emotional intimacy that made you want to live every second in the moment instead of anticipating what’s coming next or reflecting on what they’ve already done. 

But tonight there was an invigorating promise of the future, an acknowledgment of their past with a commitment to be better, together. 

The reality lays on top of Harry’s shoulders with enamoring grace, “I’m so happy,” Harry whispers back. For what feels like the first time in four years, he feels vindicated in his knowledge that the person that’s lying next to him is who he is going to  _ keep _ fighting for. 

“Before I lose what I want to say in the excitement of tonight, I have to say this, Harry,” Louis says, “I’ve done a lot of thinking this past week and I’ve realized a few things. I owe you an apology.” 

Harry looks at him in confusion, “Lou, you don’t have--” he starts, but Louis slaps a hand over Harry’s mouth to cover his lips. 

“Oi, let me get it out before you try to butt in,” Louis protests, “I gave up on us too easily. I was hurt by how quickly you let me go, and when I felt our relationship start to end, I didn’t do much to stop it. I just walked away, not realizing that I was jeopardizing the very person that I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Harry, I loved you, but I wasn’t committed to  _ us, _ ” he admits. 

Harry’s not sure what he means, but he knows better than to interrupt Louis again. He needs to get this off his chest, “I know that all of this can’t be fixed in a week, we’re going to hurt, we’re going to harbor resentment, but just know that I intend to stay and work this out. Like I should have, the first time. It hurts, Harry. All of this hurts, the countless times I drove out to my sister’s house because my heart literally, physically  _ hurt _ being apart from you; seeing you with other people when I was home alone crying-- it’s something that I need to work on getting over because I know I did it to myself. That the minute I decided I was going to walk out that door, I deserved all the pain that I so willingly wallowed in. But if you’ll have me, baby, I want to do this together.” 

“My little love,” Harry whispers, reaching over to rub his cheek, “I am so sorry. I should have fought, too. I should have tried to convince you to stay much much sooner.” 

Louis scoots closer to Harry and sticks his head directly into his shoulder to cover his face, “Harry, I meant what I said before. We’re both at fault. We both have to grow-- we both have to learn to be independent while still loving each other. I just want us to be healthy; to have a healthy future. There’s so much work to be done.” 

Harry’s listening to him with his hand cupped around the back of Louis’ neck. He’s absorbing the smaller man’s request the best he can while still basking in the overwhelming euphoria at the prospect of rekindling their love. 

“I want to do it, I want to do it all for you, for us,” Harry whispers. With a gentle touch, he rakes his fingers down Louis’ bare spine to elicit the faintest of shivers, “I will give you everything, my world.” 

Louis allows himself to acquiesce and relax against Harry’s body. They weren’t perfect, but they would work on it. 

For a while, Harry lets himself picture it for them. He thinks about what they could be down the line, what they could have if they both push through. For so long he thought of love being easy, something that was always just  _ there _ . Louis was a given, his love was a given. So, when he was left alone to live in a world where the one person he thought he had forever created seemingly insurmountable obstacles to keep him away, he couldn’t pretend there was worth in his now mundane existence. 

The scars of their lost years would ache, but they fuel Harry to seek better, to  _ do _ better. Though he knows he will never have the answers, Harry cannot help but wonder what would have happened if he begged Louis to stay that afternoon. He wonders if he would so diligently seek ways to remind his boy that he was so irrevocably tied to his being if he hadn’t suffered the years of the torment of their breakup. He wonders if he needed to suffer to truly admire every little part of Louis. 

Though he isn’t sure, he knows that he would sacrifice it all if it meant that he could stop Louis from ever having to feel that pain. 

Yes, the small man in his arms was everything to him, and although he couldn’t explain it, his instinct was that they were going to be alright. Eventually. 

“Oi, are you going to clean me up or am I going to have to do it myself?” Louis’ voice cracks from against Harry’s skin. 

And by  _ God _ , if Harry doesn’t admit it’s the most endearing, soul-warming quip he’s heard in a long time he'd be lying. 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think? 
> 
> & come say hi on twitter. @snowcaplou


End file.
